


Hit The Bottom and Escape

by Zee (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 19:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia doesn’t know what else to do, so she goes to Allison’s house.  It seems kind of silly: how do you go back to a high school friendship, once you’ve discovered that she was never who you thought she was, and once she’s watched you kill a man?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hit The Bottom and Escape

**Author's Note:**

> Every time we discuss and overanalyze the crap out of this show, Kickthebeat and I come to the conclusion that what we want out of Allison's season 2 character arc is for her to not kill anybody, while Lydia's arc should totally end with her getting to kill someone, preferably Peter Hale. So this takes place a few days after a hypothetical s2 finale, in which Allison backs off from killing Derek, but Lydia kills Peter. The title is from Weird Fishes/Arpeggi by Radiohead.
> 
> Warnings: This deals with one of the characters coming to terms with canon events that, while not explicitly sexual, were explicitly non-consensual. It features about the same level of violence that canon depicts.

Lydia doesn’t know what else to do, so she goes to Allison’s house. It seems kind of silly: how do you go back to a high school friendship, once you’ve discovered that she was never who you thought she was, and once she’s watched you kill a man? 

(“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Peter had murmured as he caught her, saving her life, smelling her hair. “You’re safe,” he’d said, and he hadn’t realized that Lydia was holding a knife.)

Every time her mind wanders, it goes somewhere she doesn’t want to look at. 

She rings the doorbell, and it’s beyond bizarre to see Chris Argent just open it, like he’s anyone’s father, like he wasn’t holding a gun the last time she saw him. Lydia feels hysterical laughter try to force its way up and tilts her head, winds a lock of hair around her fingers, asks “Is Allison home?”

“She’s upstairs,” he says, and Lydia’s smile feels stretched tight across her face as she pushes past him.

It’s been such a strange few days. She’s been going to school because it’s kind of a relief, to get dressed up and float through her classes and just be someone else. But the only person she knows who hasn’t been absent for the last three days is Danny. She’d thought that at least Stiles would still give a shit about going to class, but apparently even he’s dropped that pretense.

At nights, she stays in her room and works on putting together all of the clues she’s missed over the last few months. After three days, her mom finally noticed that Lydia’s been skipping meals, so now her mom is making noise about getting her an appointment with an actual psychiatrist, because obviously the guidance counselor isn’t helping at all, and for once in her life, Lydia actually wants to tell her mother about everything. But she won’t, because why break a lifelong streak of letting her parents think that she’s someone she’s not? Plus she realizes that she’s turned some kind of corner, and it’s pointless to lie to herself that she’s still a girl who’s popular, who has good grades, who has parents.

She had to trash the whole outfit she wore Friday night, because it wasn’t worth trying to get all the blood out of the fabric. It washed off her hands easily enough, though.

So now she’s here, standing at the top of the Argents’ staircase, the first time in three days that she’s left her house to go somewhere other than school. Because she and Allison were never friends, that’s obvious, but Lydia needs someone to talk to right now, even if it’s just yelling at someone she’s mad at. Even if Allison couldn’t care less.

She knocks, but doesn’t wait for a response before pushing open Allison’s door. A few weeks ago, she wouldn’t even have knocked, would have walked right in and flopped onto Allison’s bed to gossip. Allison’s room is different--the walls are completely bare, her full-length mirror is gone, and there’s a few different guns taken apart on her desk. There aren’t any clues that a teenaged girl might live here.

Allison is sitting cross-legged on her bed with a book open in front of her, and she looks up when Lydia enters. She frowns. “What are you doing here.”

Lydia found out about Mrs. Argent’s death when Allison screamed it in Erica’s face, while Erica and Boyd hung bloody from the basement ceiling. And from everything that Lydia’s managed to piece together, she’s pretty sure that Allison’s mom died the night of her birthday party (the night she brought Peter back). 

Lydia feels plenty sympathetic, she really does, but when she looks at Allison now, Lydia just wants to hit her.

“You told me you were in an online role-playing group.” Her voice shakes, and she lets it.

Allison just looks away. “I thought that I was protecting Scott.”

“No, you just thought that I didn’t matter.” 

Allison shrugs one shoulder. “Sorry.”

Lydia hugs her elbows. She’s not going to get anything out of this, and she should just go, but she can feel the hurt pushing its way through her skin and it’s got to go somewhere. “I was trapped, and scared, and confused and you fucking _lied_ to me—“

“I don’t care!” Allison shouts, her whole body a sudden burst of noise and movement as she stands. “You want me to tell you the truth, you want me to be honest? The truth is that I don’t give a shit, I don’t care, I don’t care about you, or Scott, or anyone!”

She’s yelling in Lydia’s face now, and she’s got her backed up against the bedroom door. Lydia’s breath leaves her for a moment, because it’s exactly what she’s been afraid of hearing from everyone around her, but then anger fills her lungs again. 

“That’s great, thanks, I guess you’re not tired of hurting people yet,” Lydia says as snippily as she possibly can. “Let me know if the sadism brings your mom back.”

For a second Lydia’s sure that Allison’s going to slap her, but instead she just takes another step forward. There are pink splotches on her face and her eyes are watery; she looks terrible, breakable, dangerous. “Get out.”

Lydia shakes her head. “You don’t scare me. Not after Peter.”

But the smile that Allison gives her is plenty scary. “Get out. I won’t ask again.”

Lydia thinks about leaving, because she’s obviously not going to get any of the apologies or explanations or closure that she needs. But she’s lost so much already, and she doesn’t want to lose this, or at least not without a fight. She crosses her arms. “Let’s not pretend that you’ve turned into a complete psycho assassin, okay? We both know that you backed off from killing Derek, even though you thought that he was the one who killed your mom.”

Allison frowns. “What—how did you know?”

“I don’t know, Allison, just how smart am I?” 

Allison flinches at the tone of Lydia’s voice, which is only a fraction of how bitter Lydia actually feels. Allison never saw her the way Lydia wanted her to, never put it all together; Lydia appreciates that Stiles admires her intellect, but he was never the one that Lydia wanted to impress. 

When Allison ducks her head, she’s close enough that Lydia can count the individual hairs that have come free of her ponytail. “I am sorry about the lying. But I can’t—I’m just not in any place to be at all comforting right now. I can’t be a good friend.”

“That’s obvious, you’re like, barely functional.” Lydia feels a tiny bit guilty for being mean when Allison hunches further into herself. She doesn’t want Allison to step back away from her. “I’m not asking you to be comforting, and I’m not really capable of being anyone’s bestie myself at the moment. I just need to talk.

“Yeah, well, I don’t.” Allison’s got some of that stone-cold-killer mojo back in her voice, and Lydia finds that it makes her want to stomp her foot and yell like a little kid.

“Have you even talked about your mom to anyone who—“ she almost says ‘who isn’t totally crazy’ but catches herself. “—isn’t a family member? It might help.”

Allison shakes her head. “Nothing’s going to help.” 

“Nope! Probably not.” Lydia has to bite her lip against inappropriate giggles again.

“Lydia...” Allison tilts her head and moves in a little closer, like she’s looking for something. Lydia waits for the start of an explanation, or a confession, or just a whole lot of grief, but Allison surprises her. “What did Peter Hale do to you?”

There’s a part of her mind that’s always distant, analytical, and has never shut itself off, not even when Peter was pushing her to the ground on the lacrosse field, not even when she was exhausting all her muscles by dragging Derek Hale through his own house on the full moon. Now that part of her curiously notes how physiological her reaction to Allison’s question is: the scent of wolfsbane fills her nostrils, adrenaline hits the back of her throat, and the tension in her shoulders is trying to tell her that she’s going to be attacked.

“On second thought? Let’s not talk,” Lydia says, and closes the distance between them. She kisses Allison because she’s wanted to for a long time, and now there’s no friendship to risk fucking up, in fact there’s not much of anything left to fuck up, so why not?

Lydia’s fully expecting to get shoved away and then thrown out of the house, but instead Allison shudders and leans into it, bracketing Lydia’s head with two hands on the door. Lydia deepens the kiss and wraps herself around Allison, who takes all of Lydia’s fight-or-flight nervous energy and returns it with the roll of her hips and the edge of her teeth. 

It’s Lydia’s first kiss since Peter, and she’s never been more grateful for someone’s tongue in her mouth.

They stop to breathe, and Allison pants and rests her forehead against Lydia’s. “This is—I wasn’t expecting this.”

Lydia lets herself feel smug about the breathless and shaky quality in Allison’s voice. She reaches up and palms Allison’s breast, rolling her palm deliberately over her nipple when Allison moans. “So, just how wet _are_ you right now?”

Allison’s eyes go wide and scandalized. “I, uh, I don’t know?” she says, even more strangled than before.

Lydia lets her hand on Allison’s back travel down to squeeze Allison’s ass. “All right then, another question. Do you want me to leave, and we can never speak of this again? Or do you want to lie on that bed while I go down on you?”

Allison’s hips press in hard against Lydia’s, which makes warmth spark in Lydia’s groin and spread outwards. “Jesus, Lydia, I—are you sure?”

“What a stupid question.” Lydia grabs one of Allison’s hands and shoves it up her skirt and between her legs, certain that Allison will be able to feel the dampness through Lydia’s underwear.

Allison’s lips part and her eyes go to half-mast for a second before she snaps her mouth shut and takes her hand out from under Lydia’s skirt. “Then I’ll go lie down.” 

Allison walks backwards while unbuttoning her jeans, never looking away from Lydia’s eyes. She looks single-minded and (if Lydia’s going to be honest) a little intimidating, but she also looks as determined to throw herself into this as Lydia is. 

Allison shucks her pants and lies on her back with her knees over the edge of the bed, her feet almost touching the ground. Lydia considers asking her to take her top off, too, but decides that there’s a limit to how crass she should be right now. It’s enough that Allison is lying there with blue panties and bare legs, propped up on her elbows so that she can watch Lydia as she kneels.

Allison lifts her hips so that Lydia can pull her panties down, and Lydia takes them all the way off of her legs, enjoying sliding them past Allison’s knees, then her ankles, then drops them on the floor. No matter how cool she’s trying to be, Lydia knows she’s blushing, especially when she lifts her head to stare at Allison’s naked cunt. Her pubic hair is dark brown and trimmed short, and when Lydia tentatively slips a finger in between the lips of her labia, it’s clear that Allison’s already plenty wet. 

“Okay then,” Lydia says, scooting forward on her knees. She’s only done this once, and that was long before she and Jackson started dating, but hopefully Allison will be forgiving of any flaws in her technique. She puts her hands on Allison’s thighs, spreads them and leans forward. 

Allison’s clitoris is still small and mostly hidden when Lydia finds it. She laps at it a few times and then gets serious, applying pressure and circling it over and over. Allison seems appreciative, if her sounds are anything to go by, and Lydia can’t get enough of how she tastes. Lydia slides her tongue down between Allison’s lips and up into her vagina to get more of that slickness, and if Lydia slurps a little, well, who could blame her? 

“Jesus christ, Lydia, oh _oh,_ ” Allison says. Her hands are in Lydia’s hair, tugging down while her hips push up against Lydia’s tongue, and Lydia gets the message and licks hard against Allison’s clit, not letting the pressure up. Allison’s hips begin to buck, a stuttering motion that seems uncontrolled, like Lydia’s got her on the edge. 

It’s the headiest feeling in the world, and Lydia feels like she’s winning something, or maybe the correct verb is proving. Part of what she’s enjoying about this is that she’s currently got all her clothes on and isn’t getting touched; that detail isn’t lost on her. 

Allison doesn’t yell or make any noise at all when she comes; she just gets rigid all over. Then Allison’s grip on Lydia’s hair loosens and she slumps back onto the bed. Lydia lifts her head and licks her lips, then stands and lies down on her stomach next to Allison.

Lydia can feel sparks thrum around her own clit, making her squirm. It’s enjoyable, but not urgent, and she pulls her arm up to pillow her face and doesn’t let herself hump the bed. She can go home and take care of herself later. She pushes aside the question of why she doesn’t want to take care of it now.

“Oh my god,” Allison says to the ceiling.

“Mm-hmm,” Lydia says. 

Allison looks over at her and snorts. “You’re smug.”

“I’m always smug.” For a second, Lydia feels like herself, and when she makes Allison chuckle and roll her eyes like that, Allison almost looks like herself, too.

But the moment passes. That’s not the way it is for either of them, anymore.

“So, um, I can... I’ve never done it before, but...” Allison rolls up onto her side and reaches for Lydia’s hip, but Lydia shakes her head.

“I’m good, thanks. Really,” she says at Allison’s doubtful look. “I just—don’t need reciprocation right now. Maybe later.”

Allison’s brow wrinkles, but she nods and lets her hand rest on the sheets, in between their two bodies. “Later.”

That’s nice to hear, considering that when Lydia kissed her, she’d been sure that all she could hope for was a one-time deal. Lydia smiles. She can still taste Allison on her tongue, sour and bright. 

They’re both zoned out for a while, so Lydia doesn’t know how much time passes before Allison speaks. 

“I feel like I didn’t do enough.” 

“Ugh, you mean during that big awful fight? You did plenty, remember all the torturing and stabbing?” 

Allison closes her eyes like she’s in pain, and Lydia sighs. Allison _had_ been tortorous and stabby, but maybe that’s something for her to figure out later. She reaches out to trace the sharp line of Allison’s cheekbone, and tries to be gentler. 

“You helped save Jackson. You helped take down Gerard.”

Allison shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have helped him in the first place.”

“Well, no, probably not.” And in truth, Lydia doesn’t know what to say. She still doesn’t know why, exactly, Allison had Erica and Boyd chained up in the basement (she has educated guesses, but no real answers). She doesn’t know how or why Allison got her terrifying ninja-and-knife skills in addition to her archery skills. She doesn’t know if her friend is going to flip and become a dead-eyed killing machine ever again, or if it’s something that Allison’s gotten out of her system. 

So Lydia leans over and kisses her instead. It’s slower and sweeter than the making out that happened against the door, and Allison’s fingers stroke at Lydia’s jaw and her neck. 

“Just don’t think about it for now,” Lydia says, her lips brushing against the shell of Allison’s ear. “It’s what I’m trying to do.”

“Liar,” Allison says. 

“I said trying, not necessarily succeeding.” 

Lydia can feel the knife’s solid handle in her grip, the memory trying to drag her down to the basement and three days back in time. She shakes it off as much as she can.


End file.
